Goodnight Kiss
by axisofadorable
Summary: Hetalia: Yaoi: USUK America has to pick up a drunk England and put him to bed. England has an unusual request. Mostly fluff, rated M for adult themes and possible bad language. (England)


GOODNIGHT KISS

Hetalia: Yaoi: UKUS: EnglandxAmerica

What was that noise?

America squirmed, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. 'Nnn…' he mumbled.

The noise didn't stop. In fact it was getting louder. America thrashed weakly. He was a heavy sleeper, and there was nothing he hated more than waking up before he was ready. But that noise. That song… It was so familiar…

Finally recognition worked its way into his sleep-fogged brain. It was a ringtone. A phone was ringing. In fact, HIS phone was ringing.

'Ugh.. mm… Fuck.' Lifting his head, America thrust a hand out for the offending object and only succeeded in knocking it to the floor. 'God damn it!' he snapped.

The clatter of expensive technology on hardwood had been enough to erase the last vestiges of sleep, and, abruptly, he opened his eyes and sat up.

Alright, he was awake. And whoever was calling him had better have a DAMN good reason-

America picked his phone up off the floor- thankfully, it was unharmed- and looked at the screen. The number was not one he recognized, but whoever it was on the other end of the line appeared to be very persistent. They still showed no signs of hanging up anytime soon.

'If this is a sales call, blood will be shed,' America remarked in nothing like his normal cheery tones. He pressed harder than he needed to pick up the call, and then lifted the phone to his ear. 'This better be important,' he said instead of hello.

There was a lot of noise in the background- what sounded like loud voices and glasses clinking- so that he couldn't make out the caller's words at first. Then the guy repeated himself, and America heard him more clearly. 'Is this Arthur's friend?'

'Who?' Oh, a wrong number. Oh, he was going to kill someone…

'Arthur,' the guy on the phone said patiently. 'Is this his friend?'

'Dude, I don't know an Arthur. I think you have a wrong number, buddy-' America was about to hang up on him, but the guy cut him off.

'I dialed the right number,' he said. 'He had it in his wallet as the chap to call in an emergency. Are you sure you don't know him? Arthur Kirkland?'

'I don't know anyone named Arthur…'

It finally registered on America that the person speaking to him was doing so in a British accent. 'Wait, hang on. Are you calling from England?'

''Course I am. Where are you?'

England. A phone call from England?

'I'm in- Oh, never mind,' America said. 'Did you say it was an emergency? Is someone hurt?' His heart began to pound.

'No, no, no.' The guy hastened to reassure him- 'Everyone is fine. But if you're Arthur's friend, I suggest you come and get him. In fact, I'm begging you to.'

Arthur, America thought.

Who the hell is Arthur?

'This Arthur… Why exactly does he need me to come and pick him up?' he asked warily.

'Oh, well, to be honest, he's gone on a bit of a pisser, and we're about to close. Can't really shut down with him crying on the bar, if you know what I mean. He seems like an agreeable chap, but closing time is closing time, right?'

'So… This is a bar calling me? Do you mean he's drunk?'

'That's what I said, isn't it? I tried to tell him he'd had enough, but he kept insisting on more. And now look at him.'

I'd rather not, America thought. All of a sudden, he could picture the scene only too well.

'I'll bet he did,' he said aloud.

'So you know him, then?'

America rubbed his forehead. 'Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. Let me guess- he's short, with big eyebrows, and a chip on his shoulder the size of Nebraska?'

'I don't know about any chips, but the rest of it is dead on.'

'Okay,' America said. 'Let me get this straight- he's too drunk to drive home?'

'Your friend is too drunk to WALK home.'

'He's not my-Oh, alright. I guess you had better give me directions, then.'

It didn't take America long to get to England's place, or even to find the right bar- or what did they call them here? Pubs?

But when he took a good look at the picture that awaited him inside, he wished it had taken him just a little longer.

'Oh, come on,' he said. 'You have got to be kidding me.'

It was England, alright. He was sitting on a barstool with his face on the bar, and yes, he was crying. He was in his own little puddle of tears and spilled beer, and the bartender- obviously the one who had called America, was standing beside him with a helpless expression and a cup of black coffee.

'He won't drink it,' he said. 'Ah, I'm so glad you showed up. It's a load off me.'

And on me, America thought.

'He hates coffee.'

He walked over and looked down at England. Well, wasn't that a pretty sight? His face was all red, and his hair was stuck together in clumps. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be asleep, although he was still sniffling slightly.

'England,' America said. 'I mean, Arthur. Wake up.'

'Mnn,' England said.

America leaned down and put his face close to England's ear. His hair smelled like burnt toast, beer and shampoo. The last bit was kind of nice, but the first part- yuck. 'ENGLAND,' America said loudly.

England's bright green eyes flew open. He jerked his face up off the bar- it had left a crease on his cheek- and blinked somewhat dazedly at America.

'A-America? Wh-what are you doing here?'

'I'm here to take you home, obviously.'

'I don't wanna go home.'

'The bar is closing.'

'Pub.'

'The pub is closing.'

'I don't wanna go home.'

'England.'

'No!'

Oh, come on, America thought. He put his hand on England's shoulder.

England shook it off.

'England.'

'No. Go away.'

'Oh, for chrissakes. I came all this way to take you home, the least you could do is come with me,' America said.

'I don't want to go home! I already said that!'

'Why not?'

'Because…' England stopped. 'Because I don't want to. And I'm not going to.'

'Oh, yes you are.' America took the cup of black coffee from the bartender and drained it. Then he licked his lips and wiped a drop of coffee off his chin. 'But if you don't want to come with me the easy way,' he said, 'then we'll do it the hard way.'

England looked up at him. He was scowling. 'What ever do you mean?'

'This.' Reaching out, America scooped him off the bar stool and over his shoulder.

'America! You prat! Sod it, put me down! Bloody fuckin' hell!'

'Don't worry about it,' America said to the bartender. 'He's always like this.'

In his car, he set England down on the front seat. England glared at him. He didn't put on his seatbelt, so America put it on for him.

'I'm sorry I had to do that,' he said.

'You didn't have to.'

'Oh, yes, I did.' America started the car. England folded his arms and looked out the window. He was flushed from being carried upside down, and his hair was sticking straight up on his head.

America hoped he had sobered up some.

If he just doesn't throw up in my car, he thought, I won't call this day a total bust.

He drove to England's house, and England didn't speak a word to him the whole way there. When he parked the car and got out, England stayed sitting in his seat, resolutely looking out the window.

'Are you going to sulk all day?' America asked him.

'I'm not sulking.'

'Yes, you are.'

'You treated me like a child.'

'Well, you're acting like one.'

'Fuck you!'

'No thanks,' America said.

'Fuck you!'

'Didn't we just settle that?'

England glared at him. 'I hate you.'

'I know.' He opened England's door. 'Come on. At least let's go inside.'

'No.'

'Really? You want to do this again?' America didn't wait for an answer. Reaching into the car, he put his hands around England's waist and lifted him out. England caught him around the neck. 'Idiot! You'll drop me!'

'No, I won't.'

'Bloody hell!'

'Calm down.' He was squirming a bit, and his breath felt strangely ticklish as he muttered curses into America's ear. The position WAS a little awkward, but America didn't see how it could be helped.

'For once, I'm grateful you're tiny,' he said, hefting England higher and kicking the door shut.

'What? I'm not bloody tiny! I'm average, where the hell do you get off-'

America tuned him out. It wasn't too hard to get England up onto the porch, but when he freed a hand and tried the door, it was locked.

'England, where are your keys?'

'I'm not letting you in my bloody house. You called me tiny!'

'England.'

'I'm not.'

'Where are they?'

'Hmph. You can put me down now, you know.'

America set him down but kept one hand on him. 'Where are your keys?'

'In my pocket, wanker, where the bloody hell else would they be?'

Of course.

'Could you get them out for me? Please?'

'No.'

'England.'

'I said no. Go home.'

'I'm not going home until you're inside. And you're not gonna be inside until you GIVE ME YOUR GODDAMNED KEYS.'

'You don't have to yell.'

'I'm not yelling.'

'You are!'

'No, I'm- Goddamnit.'

'Wh-what are you- ?'

England shut up suddenly as America grabbed him by the shoulder and thrust his other hand into the front pocket of England's suit pants. He felt England's thigh, but no keys. England made a small noise of protest and tried to push him away.

America ignored it, going for the other pocket.

'Stop it!' England said.

Got 'em, America thought, ignoring him. He closed his hand around the keys and pulled his hand out.

'Bastard,' England said. He was… blushing? His cheeks were pink, anyway. Pinker than they had been before.

'I was just getting your keys, not feeling you up,' America said. He laughed a little.

As if, he thought.

Why would he ever want to feel up anyone as annoying as England?

But it was funny, the way he was blushing.

America took another look at him, suddenly curious. He'd never looked at England like this before, never even considered him, but… he was kind of attractive, wasn't he? Those eyes… that face… His body wasn't bad either. America had slept with his fair share of nations. Hell, England was probably one of the only ones he hadn't…

And he wasn't going to.

Because he didn't want to. Because it was England, for god's sake.

Consider their history! England had practically raised him.

So what if he hadn't gotten any older, appearance-wise. So what if they might as well be the same age now. America'd never, ever even thought about him like that until now.

Shit, if he had known reaching into England's pocket was going to MAKE him think about England like that, he would have thought twice before he did it.

'Stop looking at me like that, idiot,' England said.

'I'm not looking at you like anything.' America unlocked England's front door. 'If you'd just given me the keys, I wouldn't have had to get them myself.'

England took two wobbly steps into the house. 'Alright. I'm inside. Now get out!'

'You couldn't possibly make it upstairs to bed in your condition.'

'I'm not in a condition!'

'Oh yes, you are.'

'I don't want you to come in.'

'Too bad, I'm already in.' America closed the front door. 'Come on. The sooner you get upstairs and in bed, the sooner I WILL go home.'

England started determinedly for the stairs, but he was listing from side to side so severely that America only let him take two more steps before he scooped him up again. 'Come on.'

'Put me down! Why do you keep doing this! I don't like it!'

'Me either,' America said. But he realized even as he said it, that it wasn't quite true. He kind of did like it. He'd always known he had gotten bigger than England, but… To be able to pick him up like this… It was kind of cool.

It was almost sort of nice, the way England hung on to him, even while he was yelling, and his body didn't feel terrible in America's arms, either.

He's wiry, America thought. He doesn't work out like I do, but he's not weak. He just isn't as strong as I am.

It felt strange to be stronger than England, but he guessed he had been for a while.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned left and carried England into the bedroom. It wasn't hard to find, and he was grateful for that because he doubted that England would have told him where it was. He seemed determined to be contrary.

'Here we are,' America said. He dropped England onto the bed, and England sputtered for a minute, then sat up and glared. His acid green eyes made America wince a little.

'Thank you,' he said. America could practically taste the sarcasm.

'You're welcome,' he answered anyway. 'Sleep well.'

'I'm not bloody likely to, in my clothes,' England snapped. He looked down at his fully clothed body and scowled.

'Well, take them off then,' America said.

'I will!' England lifted his hands and started trying to unbutton his shirt. He hadn't taken his vest off first, but it didn't matter since he didn't succeed in even getting the first button out of its hole.

'Seriously?' America asked him. 'You can't even do that?'

'Shut up! I can!'

'Right.' America bent down and pushed his hands away. 'First, take THIS off,' he said. He grabbed England's vest by the hem and pulled it up.

England squeaked.

'Lift your arms,' America ordered.

'America-'

'Lift them!'

England lifted his arms. America pulled the vest off over his head and dropped it on the floor.

'There. Now, those buttons…' When he undid the first one, England looked up at him with wide eyes.

'What are you doing?'

'What does it look like? Taking your shirt off.'

'Why?'

'Why? So you don't have to sleep in it. What is wrong with you?'

'Oh.' England let him unbutton the rest of the buttons in silence.

'There,' he said when he was done. 'Now you can take it off.'

'Alright.' England shrugged the dress shirt off. He was wearing a white tank top underneath, that left his arms and collarbone bare.

America glanced at them- he couldn't help it. That stupid stuff earlier with the keys- it had gotten him thinking all kinds of wrong thoughts, like how pale and smooth England's skin was, and how he'd never noticed before just how green those eyes really were.

The last thing he should be doing right now was undressing England…

'Have you got it?' he asked. 'Can you do the rest?'

''Course.' England bent forward and tried to reach for his shoes. America caught him before he could fall off the bed.

'Jesus, what am I gonna do with you?'

He sat England back up on the edge of the bed and then took his shoes off one by one. Then he pulled England's socks off, too. England let him.

England was still in his pants. If America had any sense, he'd leave those on- but England wouldn't be comfortable like that. He was this close to undressed and ready for bed, America might as well get him the rest of the way, too.

'You're wearing underwear, right?' he asked.

'Wh-what? O-of course I am!'

'Then, here.'

When he put his hands on the fastenings of England's pants, England flinched. 'America, what… ?'

'England, I'm just taking your pants off. So you'll be comfortable.'

He unbuttoned the button, then pulled the zipper down.

England made a little noise, and suddenly his hands were over America's own. 'Stop,' he said.

America looked up at him.

England's cheeks were flushed. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated a little.

Jeez… America thought. He looks like I'm doing something wrong… Or like he wants me to…

He sucked in a small breath of his own. 'I'm not doing anything,' he said. 'You don't want to sleep like this, do you? Let me help.'

'O.K,' England said in a small voice. He let go.

'Lie back,' America said. When England lay back, he pulled the pants over his hips and down his thighs. England was wearing boxer shorts. Pale blue ones. America pulled his eyes away before they could settle anywhere they shouldn't. 'Okay,' he said. 'Can you get under the covers now?'

'Yeah.' England crawled sideways on the bed and tugged at the coverlet. Since it was under him, it didn't move.

Oh, come ON, America thought. I'm dying here. The way I'm thinking right now, I can't pick him up-

He put England's pants down on the floor beside his vest, shoes and shirt. 'Fuck,' he muttered softly. 'C'mere.'

'America,' England said when he picked him up. He didn't fight it this time, just let America lift him. He even wrapped his arms around America's neck. 'Do you remember?' he asked. 'I used to do this for you.'

'I remember,' America said. He remembered England putting him to bed lots of times. Sometimes he had been too sleepy to get undressed, and England would undress him and put his nightshirt on and then tuck him into bed. 'I guess it's my turn.' He let go of England with one hand and pulled the covers back. 'Here we go.'

When he laid England down, England let go of his neck. America pulled the coverlet up to his chin and tucked in the edges.

'There,' he said. 'All done. I'll see you-'

'You forgot something,' England said.

'What?'

'You forgot.'

'What did I forget?'

'When I tucked you in… What was the last thing I always did?'

'Umm…' America said, at a loss.

'You've forgotten?'

'No!' He thought about it for a moment, and then he remembered.

England was looking up at him. He was blushing again, and it made his eyes brighter. He didn't look away. America blinked. He couldn't look at England looking like that… He couldn't… Not when he'd remembered what the last thing England had always done after he tucked him in was.

He doesn't mean that, he thought. He can't mean that.

'You remember?' England asked. His voice sounded a little funny, America thought.

'Yeah…' America said. He remembered, alright. He just didn't see how he could do it.

'Then I want you to,' England said. 'Before you go.'

Fuck.

Okay.

England was really drunk. He wouldn't remember this in the morning, and what could it hurt? It was completely innocent.

America bent down and kissed England on the forehead. 'Goodnight,' he said.

He stood up quickly, and started to turn away. England's hand shot out and caught the edge of his jacket.

America looked down to see what he wanted.

'Another,' England said.

'England, what- ?'

'I want another.' Even though his cheeks were so pink they looked painful, he wasn't backing down. He tugged on the piece of jacket he held. 'America, I want another.'

'You're drunk.'

'I'm not.'

'You don't really want me to,'

'Yes I do.'

'Fine!' America bent down and kissed England's forehead again. His skin was warm and a little damp. His hair tickled America's nose. 'There. Are you happy?'

'Another,' England said. He pulled his hands out from under the covers and put them on America's cheeks. When he shifted America's face downward, America took in a small, startled breath. This wasn't a kiss on the forehead, this was-

His lips were opposite England's now, so close that he could almost feel them. England's breath tickled his skin moistly. 'Another,' England whispered. 'Please?'

'Fuck,' America whispered back. 'What are you doing?'

He pulled back a little, but England didn't let go of him. 'I want you to kiss me goodnight,' he said.

'I already did!' America protested.

'No,' England said. 'I want you to kiss me good night like this. Here.'

'No way.'

'Why?'

'Because we can't! Because I can't kiss you like this.'

England's brow was wrinkled and he was starting to look unhappy. His face was still way too close. America didn't like seeing that expression on it, but what could he do? He wasn't going to kiss England on the mouth!

'Why not?' England asked.

'Because- England-'

'Don't you want to?'

Oh, fuck. Yeah, he did. He wanted to.

'I can't,' he said.

'You don't want to.' England let go of him suddenly.

'No!' America said. 'That's not it! I…'

Fuck it.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he took England's face in his two hands and brought their mouths together. When his lips touched England's, England made a little sigh. His mouth opened under America's as if they had done this before, as if he knew exactly what he wanted.

America had never even thought of doing this with England, but he realized suddenly that England probably had thought of doing it with him. That thought made him feel a little funny, and he started to pull back, but then England lifted his face, his mouth following America's.

When England's tongue tip touched his, a slow shudder of pleasure worked its way through America's abdomen.

Had it really been that long for him, that he would feel that way from kissing England…? Or… was it BECAUSE he was kissing England?

Oh, fuck, he thought. I am so dead.

Before things could go any further, he pulled away. 'England, I can't-' he said. 'We can't do this.'

'Why not?'

'Because you're drunk, and if I take advantage of you- of your feelings-'

Because he had to have them, didn't he? This wasn't something sudden; this was something that had obviously been brewing for a long time-

America took a slow shaky breath. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But I can't.'

'Because you don't have feelings?' England asked. He didn't sound all that upset, possibly because he was still far from sober.

'I don't know!' America dropped his face into his hands. 'I don't know what I have. This is so sudden, England, and I just… I don't know.'

'Did you want to?'

'What?'

'You kissed me. Did you want to?'

Fuck, America thought. Should I lie? I can't… 'Yeah,' he said. I wanted to.'

'And if I wasn't drunk? Would you have stopped?'

'If you weren't drunk, this wouldn't have happened!'

'If it had.'

'What is this, twenty questions?' Since his hands were already in it, America scrubbed them through his hair. 'I don't know,' he said finally. 'Probably not.'

'If I wasn't drunk, you probably wouldn't have stopped.'

'That's what I said.' He shot a glance at England. The corner of England's mouth was turned up a little bit. He didn't look mad, or sad. 'Is this okay?' America asked him.

'I guess so. I still want to, but if you don't…'

'I didn't say I didn't want to.' Damn it, why was this happening to him?

If only I hadn't picked up that call, he thought. But if he hadn't, then he would have missed everything that happened tonight. He would have missed seeing England like this…

But I don't WANT to see him like this, America thought. Do I?

'America,' England said.

'What?'

'How about tomorrow morning?'

'What?'

'Tomorrow morning… When I wake up, if I still want to, will you do it then?'

'Are you serious?'

'Of course I'm serious!'

'You won't want to.'

'But if I do.'

'If you do, England… If you still want to when you wake up and you are sober, I'll…' America swallowed.

It doesn't matter what I promise him, he thought, because he won't remember any of this. If it will make him happy now…. 'If you still want to when you wake up I'll do anything you want,' he said.

England smiled. There was no way he had ever smiled like that at America before, because if he had…

'Okay, now that that's settled, you go to sleep,' America said quickly. 'I have to go home.' He got off the bed and turned away, but a tug on his jacket stopped him. England had him by the edge of his jacket again. 'England… I'm not gonna give you another goodnight kiss.'

'I know. But you have to stay.'

'What?'

'You have to stay. So that you'll be here in the morning when I wake up. Remember?'

'Oh, fuck,' America said. 'You're not serious.'

'Of course I'm serious. You can't go all the way home if you're going to be here in the morning, can you?'

'Fine.' America tugged against England's hold. 'Then I'll sleep downstairs, on the sofa.'

'Why? There's plenty of room here.'

'That's crazy,' America said.

'It's not. We used to do this, remember? Sometimes, when you couldn't sleep, you would get in bed with me and I would hold you. We did it all the time, and you always slept then. You said it yourself, it's your turn.'

'You can sleep fine without me.'

'No, I can't. I want you to stay.'

'England.'

'America. Whenever you asked me to, I did it. Don't you remember?'

'Of course I remember.'

He did. He remembered getting in bed with England and England holding him, the way that England's warmth and the strength of his arms drove the nightmares away. England never got mad at him, not even when America woke him up three nights in a row to sleep with him because he was scared of monsters in his closet, not even when he used to wet England's bed…

England had never turned him down.

It felt weird thinking of that now. It was such a long time ago. But America did remember.

'You really want me to?' he asked.

'Yes, I really want you to,' England said. 'You don't have to hold me. But I want you to stay with me tonight.'

'Then I will,' America said finally. He tugged on his jacket again, but England didn't let go. 'England.'

'I don't want you to go.'

'I'm not going! I'm just gonna get ready for bed. Jeez, what are you, five?'

'Oh.' England let go. 'Alright.'

America started for the bathroom.

'America?'

'What is it now?'

'You can use my toothbrush, if you want.'

In the bathroom, America took off his jacket. He looked at himself in the mirror. Mirror-America looked worried. And tired. Maybe even a little haggard.

God, what had gotten into England? He was acting so weird.

He must have drunk way too much, America thought. Why does he do it? He knows it's not good for him…

He took his jeans off and dropped them on top of his jacket. It wasn't like he could wear them into bed with England, and he was still wearing a T shirt – blue with yellow stars on it- and boxer shorts. For that matter, England was decent enough too, in his tank top and shorts.

It's a little weird, America thought, but there's nothing wrong with this, right? We aren't going to do anything…

He used England's toothbrush- why not, he had offered- and then rinsed his mouth out.

When he came back into the bedroom, England had curled onto his side. His eyes were closed and the sheet rose and fell with his gentle breathing.

Look at that, America thought. He's already asleep. I didn't have to stay after all.

For a moment, he thought about going back in the bathroom, grabbing his jeans and jacket again, and just leaving.

But he was really tired. Maybe too tired to drive. And the bed looked really comfortable, and England…

Wow, America thought. He's really… cute. How come I never noticed that before?

That messy hair, his long eyelashes and the way he smiled just a little bit when he was sleeping- he looked way younger like this, like he wasn't the same England at all.

America folded back the coverlet and crawled up onto the bed. He tried not to shake England too much, but England stirred and made a small questioning sound.

'It's me,' America said. 'Do you still want me to come in?'

'…Yeah.'

'Okay.' He slid down into the bed and stretched out on his back. For a small guy, England had a really big bed. 'This thing is huge,' America said.

''S too big,' England mumbled. 'Too big for me.'

'Then why'd you get it?'

'Didn't… it's the same one.'

'Huh?'

''S the same one I've always had,' England said.

'Oh.' That felt even weirder- knowing it was the same bed that he used to sleep in with England before.

And now here he was getting into bed with England all over again, except this time England was the one asking him to.

England, he thought, why are you making me do this? Why are you making me feel these things and remember stuff that it's better I forget?

And I HAVE to forget, because we can't go back to that time.

He wasn't that child anymore, and England…

After the revolutionary war, England had turned away from America. He had never shown a soft side to him again, and things had remained strained between them even after they were able to be civil to each other.

England had pushed America away long after he stopped trying to pull away.

So why was he trying to change things now?

Still… America wondered when England had stopped smiling.

It had been a long time since he had let himself remember the way things used to be between them. He had forgotten how England would take care of him, and how much he had looked up to the older nation when he was small. He had admired England, then, and nothing had made him happier than seeing England's smiling face- not hamburgers, not ice cream, nothing.

There had been a time, before he had discovered independence, when all America had wanted was to stay with England forever, and to see that smile all the time.

I was a little kid, he thought. But I loved him, then.

So when did he stop smiling?

When I left, America thought. The first time I ever saw him cry- that was the last time he ever smiled like that for me.

Until tonight.

England had smiled for him, because- England wanted him? Because England still cared for him?

Maybe both.

It was hard to believe, to reconcile with what America knew of England now, but America didn't feel like he could have been any plainer. Drunk or not, England had admitted that he wanted America, and that he wanted him… that way.

So maybe England didn't want to go back to that time before.

Obviously, he didn't, America thought. He wanted something completely different now, something that still involved sleeping together in the same bed, but that lacked the innocence of brotherly love.

And how did THAT make America feel?

He remembered the sensation of England's tongue touching his and he shivered.

I could, he thought. Oh, I could.

But this is just because… he's had too much to drink, and he's remembering things now. Tomorrow he'll have forgotten, and he'll be the old England.

But I-

America hadn't done anything wrong. England had kept pushing him away, hadn't he? Even after America had stopped pulling away, even after he had wanted to come back at least a little bit.

It was natural for their relationship to have changed after that.

But those feelings from before, America's feelings from before- Had they gone away? Or were they still there somewhere inside him?

He turned his head and looked over at England. He was really asleep now, his hand curled beneath his cheek, his mouth a little open.

He looks small like this, America thought. I want to protect him. And I want him to smile again.

But I can't do this- I can't get involved with him too deeply, because if he changes on me again, I won't be able to go back to how I felt before.

Or… Is it already too late?

Before tonight, he'd been okay. He'd stopped aching for England a long time ago; he had let himself forget so much that after a while he hadn't even missed the way things used to be.

He'd never be able to feel like that again, and it was all England's fault.

But he wouldn't even know. He wouldn't ever know what he'd done, would he?

Maybe this was England's revenge. America had broken his heart- and now England was going to break America's.

Without even trying.

America woke up wondering why he felt anxious. Trying to shove the feelings away, he stretched, yawned and opened his eyes.  
The ceiling looks wrong, he thought. And the bed feels weird…. And why is there someone snoring?

It wasn't a loud snore, just little snuffling sounds. But he didn't remember picking anyone up last night-

America rolled over and looked at his bedmate-

England!

Oh, fuck, he thought. That's right! England got drunk , and I took him home, and… We ended up in bed.

But all they had done was sleep together.

Not that England hadn't wanted to do more- America remembered the kiss and felt shivery all over again.

England had wanted to, but America had said no.

Thank god, he had. Thank god he had held onto his common sense.

I have to get up, he thought. I can't let him wake up in bed with me, he'll lose it. I'll never be able to explain before he kills me, so I'll just leave before he wakes.

Carefully, he turned back the coverlet and slid his legs out of bed. England didn't stir. He was still making those little sounds, and America let himself look down at him for one last, long moment.

His heart hurt a little bit.

I'll never see him like this again, he thought. After this it's back to the old England. And if I'm lucky, when he wakes up he'll never even know I was here.

He was quiet when he went into the bathroom and got dressed, and quieter still when he tiptoed toward the door. He'd almost reached it when he heard a rustling of sheets and then England's sleepy voice.

'America? Where are you going?'

'I… I…' America turned around slowly. England was sitting up in bed, looking at him. His hair was all tousled and his eyes were still sleepy looking, but he was definitely awake. 'I was gonna go home,' America said finally. 'I didn't think you'd be too happy to wake up and find me here, so-

' Why was England frowning now? Did he think- 'Nothing happened!' America added quickly. 'All I did was take you home, I swear-'

'I know nothing happened,' England interrupted him. 'That's why you're still here, right? Or did you forget your promise?'

'I- I didn't forget.' America was embarrassed that he'd stumbled over the first word, but how could he not? England was being so… bold. He wasn't drunk now, so why was he still acting this way?

And what exactly had America promised, anyway?

Everything had been so crazy last night that he had to think about it for a moment before he remembered his own exact words.

He'd said 'anything you want.'

Oh, fuck. Well, that covered a pretty broad area, didn't it?

'I didn't forget,' he said again. 'I just didn't want you to get mad at me if I was in the bed, and you woke up and didn't remember anything.'

'Oh,' England said. 'Well, I remember. And I'm not mad. And I won't GET mad, unless you leave without keeping your promise.'

'I wouldn't…' America swallowed. 'I'm sorry.'

'Hey,' England said.

'What?'

'Do you… really want to go?' His voice was small, suddenly. 'I won't make you stay if you don't want to.'

'No!' America said quickly. England looked relieved, and his own heart started pounding.

I just need a minute, he thought. Things are moving way too fast.

'England, would you mind… I didn't have dinner last night, and I'm hungry. Before we do anything, would you make me something? I… I miss your cooking.

Now that was a fib if America had ever told one. No one could miss England's cooking, mostly because 'cooking' was a very loose term for whatever it was that England did in the kitchen. For a moment, America thought that he might have laid it on too thick.

But then England smiled, in a way that lit up his whole face. 'R-really? You really missed it?'

Suddenly America realized that he would gladly eat whatever horrible mess England prepared for him, just to get another smile like that. 'Yeah, England,' he said. 'I really did.'

'Alright.' England slid out of bed and rubbed a hand through his hair. America had forgotten just how little he was wearing- it took a supreme effort for him not to check out England's body when England walked over to the closet, and he was almost disappointed when England took out a burgundy colored dressing gown and put it on over his tank and shorts.

Get a hold of yourself, America, he thought. Don't take this and run with it! Things will get way out of hand.

'Is there anything special you want me to make?' England asked him.

'Whatever you have is fine,' America said quickly. 'Do you mind if I take a shower while you're cooking?'

'No, that's alright. Everything will be ready by the time you get out of the bath.'

'Okay.' America smiled a slightly nervous smile and went into the bathroom. He had barely started brushing his teeth when there was a knock at the door.

'I forgot to brush my teeth,' England said. 'Oh, are you using it?'

'Yes, but I'm almost done,' America said around a mouthful of toothpaste. He leaned over and rinsed his mouth, then stepped aside so England could get to the sink. 'Here.'

England took the damp toothbrush and squeezed fresh paste on it. He began brushing vigorously and America almost blushed. That toothbrush had just been in his mouth, and now it was in England's… But of course, it was England's toothbrush. It had been in his mouth lots of times.

Stop being weird, he thought.

England finished brushing and leaned over to rinse. America was still standing close to him. Looking down on the top of England's head, with its crown of messy yellow hair, he had the strangest urge to bend down and put his mouth there.

Was he crazy? He wanted to kiss England on the top of the head? But why not? They were going to be doing a lot more than that soon.

If I want to, I should, America thought.

Boldly, he dipped his head, but his lips had barely brushed the tips of England's hair when England straightened back up.

'Ow!' America said. He clapped a hand to his bleeding lip and winced.

'Oh!' England said. 'What happened?' He rubbed the top of his own head. 'Did you hurt yourself? What were you doing?'

'Nothing,' America mumbled. He nibbled on his lip. 'It's not too bad. I think it'll stop in a minute.'

'Better let me see.'

'No, it's fine. You go on and cook.'

'Sure?'

'Yeah.' He practically pushed England out of the bathroom and closed the door.

What was wrong with him?

I'm turning into, like, a complete sentimental idiot!

At least that little accident had shocked some sense into him. He couldn't go off half-cocked and start doing things like that with England.

This was England for god's sake!

The very same England that he was probably going to sleep with very, very soon.

America made a small, desperate sound and turned the taps on in the tub.

Fuck a shower, he was going to take a bath. A long bath.

When America made it down to the kitchen he was wearing one of England's extra dressing gowns that England had laid out on the bed for him. It was a little too short and exposed a little too much thigh for his comfort, but he didn't feel like he could avoid wearing it after England had gone to the trouble of getting it for him.

England had finished cooking. The scent of burning hung in the air, though and he was still wearing an apron as he placed serving dishes on the table. He turned around as America came in. 'There you are! Everything's ready. I made coffee for you.' He pushed a mug toward America. 'Here, it's hot. I put some condensed milk in. You used to like that in your tea.'

'Oh,' America said. He didn't have the heart to say he took his coffee black.

England gestured at the full platters. 'I made a lot, so have as much as you want!'

He smiled again, cheeks pink and eyes excited, and America's heart melted. Trying not to look at the dishes too closely, he served himself a generous portion from each. 'This looks… wonderful,' he lied.

'Try it,' England encouraged him. 'I made all of your favorites- Scotch eggs, scones, kippers, oatmeal porridge and bacon!'

I'm going to have to eat it all, America thought. The scones are burnt, the kippers are- UGH- the oatmeal is lumpy, the bacon is limp, and the eggs… What the hell are Scotch eggs anyway? But… I gotta eat it all.

He took a bite of unidentified food and then a quick swallow of coffee. 'Mm!'

England, convinced, tucked into his own breakfast, and America did his best to inhale everything on his plate without tasting it. The coffee helped- surprisingly, the addition of condensed milk had saved England's bitter, over-brewed beverage from being undrinkable. It was sweet and almost a little bit tasty.

When America had finished eating- he even made himself take seconds- he looked over and saw that England had, too.

'Well,' he said. 'That was delicious. You outdid yourself.'

At making inedible food.

But America would eat another plate if England asked him to. If England smiled like he was right now-

Oh, I'm so dead, America thought.

I think I… I think I might be falling in love with England.

He looked across the table at the other nation. England's plate was empty too, and he had finished his second cup of tea.

Well… he did everything I asked him to, America thought, so I guess it's time to make good on my promise.

And… he's made all the first moves so far, so I guess it's my turn now.

'England?' he asked. 'Are you ready?'

'Eh? Oh…' England looked down at the table. He blushed suddenly. 'This was a lot easier last night,' he mumbled.

'Huh?' Was England having second thoughts? 'Why?' America asked him. 'Because you were too drunk to know what you were doing?'

'No. Because you thought I was too drunk to know what I was doing.' He looked up and nailed America with those green eyes, and it was America's turn to flush.

'Oh,' he said stupidly. 'You mean you weren't?'

England sighed. 'No. I wasn't. I was drunk, but… I knew it was you, and I knew what I was doing. America, we don't have to do this. I'm sorry I made you promise.'

What? America thought. He's letting me off? Why?

'You really wanted to last night,' he said. 'Did you change your mind?'

'No, I still want to,' England said. 'Last night you promised me I could do anything I wanted this morning. But what I really want is for you to want to.' He looked down at the table again. 'And I don't think you do.'

America looked at England's bowed head for a long time- he looked at England's haystack hair, and the stiff set of his shoulders under the silky fabric of his dressing gown, and the way he looked small like this, too, and defeated.

He looked for probably for a lot longer than he should have.

Am I sure, he asked himself, am I really sure?

And what he decided was, yes, he was sure.

'You're wrong,' he said finally. 'I do want to.'

England looked up at him, startled, and America suddenly realized that the shininess in his eyes was tears. 'America,' England said.

'I'm sure,' America answered, before he could ask. 'And not just because I want to sleep with you- though, I do- but because… I think… I never stopped loving you. It's weird, 'cause… The way that I love you has changed all of a sudden, but it never stopped.'

England blinked, and two tears rolled down his cheeks. He bit his lip and then opened his mouth. 'I've waited a long time for this,' he said. 'I don't want to wait anymore. So take me upstairs, America. Please? You can even carry me, if you want to.'

America stood up. He rounded the table and lifted England.

'Mmph,' England said.

Because America hadn't scooped him into his arms and carried him upstairs.

No, he had simply picked England out of his chair by the elbows and kissed him right there at the breakfast table, in front of all of their dirty dishes.

And it was a long time before he stopped.


End file.
